


Take What You Want, and Leave What You Don't

by loochskywalker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bad Flirting, Domestic, M/M, connor just really loves freddie and he can't help it, sex tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loochskywalker/pseuds/loochskywalker
Summary: He’s tired, the end of the hockey season wearing him thin, and his arms feel heavy as he takes off his equipment. This time of year is full of extremes, wins make you feel like you have endless energy, like nothing can get better, like you’re on top of the world; but then, losses feel like your body is ready to quit on you, just so tired and sore everywhere. And they lost. To Buffalo, a team not even in the playoffs. Jack Eichel got two goals. And Freddie had to leave, injured.





	

Freddie’s gone by the time game is over, his stuff packed up and his locker empty. Connor knows why he’s not there, knows he’s probably better off relaxing at home, but that doesn’t mean he feels good about it. They lost and Freddie got hurt and Connor is just sore and wants to go home. Even as Leo claps him on the shoulder and congratulates him on a good game, Connor just wants to go home.

He’s tired, the end of the hockey season wearing him thin, and his arms feel heavy as he takes off his equipment. This time of year is full of extremes, wins make you feel like you have endless energy, like nothing can get better, like you’re on top of the world; but then, losses feel like your body is ready to quit on you, just so tired and sore everywhere. And they lost. To Buffalo, a team not even in the playoffs. Jack Eichel got two goals. And Freddie had to leave, injured.

Connor had watched, or more like eavesdropped, when the team doctors told Babs that they didn’t want Freddie in the game. Connor hadn’t seen Freddie since the first period finished. He just wants to get _home_.

It just sucks that tonight getting home isn’t as easy as stumbling into Freddie’s car and being driven back to his apartment a few minutes away. Home is 2 hours away by bus. Freddie probably just got home. Connor simultaneously misses him like hell and kind of hates him, if only because he gets to slip into their bed as Brownie has to slip into a bus.

“Hey,” Naz knocks into him, “Freddie doesn’t get pizza though” Connor can’t help but laugh as he looks up when Naz takes a huge bite out of the piece of pizza hanging limply in his hand.

“That’s true!” Connor says, “but at least he wasn't even in the country when we lost.”

Naz nodded thoughtfully, “well hey, can’t win them all.”

“We need to.”

“That’s not what I meant” Naz says, annoyed, “I mean with the Freddie thing, he got to duck out before the loss but he missed out on the pizza.”

“Ah,” Connor says, understanding, “Well thanks Naz, I was worried you were going to start lecturing me on how to be a good loser.”

“No you’re already a pro at that.” Naz winks and Connor laughs. He’s still so tired though.

 

********

 

Connor isn’t as large as a lot of the guys on his team. He has good height, maybe a little on the short side for a hockey player but he’s definitely not the shortest on the team. It’s mostly in his shoulders and chest where he isn’t as big. Marns is probably slimmer than him but it settles differently, like he’s still developing. Connor isn’t old exactly but he’s older than Mitch, fights to keep weight on not because he’s a lanky teenager but because this is just how his body is. It’s not necessarily ideal for hockey, he looks at guys like Auston and even Leo -- who is shorter than him -- and feels pangs of jealousy. They carry so much strength on them and Connor isn’t _weak_ but he’s not them. He’s slim, his shoulders slump slightly and hips tapered.

It’s _fine_ , there are other guys in the NHL who carry their weight similarly, and it means he gets more cheat days than others just because he has to keep weight on, but he still compares himself to his teammates. He’s a hockey player, some days it feels like it’s what he was made to do, so knowing that other people have better bodies for hockey than he does makes him jealous. But he’s competitive, that’s another thing about being a hockey player.

And even then he was never jealous of Freddie’s body. From day one, before he was head over heals for him, Connor never even thought to be jealous of Freddie. He’s a goalie, that’s different, but his body type would make him a great forward, maybe a defenseman. He’s so tall and he’s so broad and thick. Even when he presses gentle touches into Connor’s skin, like a hand to the small of the back or an arm thrown haphazardly across Connor’s shoulders, he can feel the power in them. Freddie is _built_ in a way that Connor always wanted to be, but never even considered to be jealous of. Not of Freddie.

 

********

 

When they finally get back from Buffalo, Connor finds Freddie’s car is still in the parking garage. He rolls his eyes a little but silently thanks Freddie for it. He was planning on getting an Uber back home but this is a lot nicer. It is Freddie’s car, but Connor can’t remember the last time he took his own anywhere.

It’s ridiculous. Freddie got him this nice, new car -- that was way too much and way too expensive and made Connor tear up a little -- but never let him drive it. If Connor asked, sure, but he didn’t even really _like_ driving, so they took Freddie’s car everywhere. Everything in his life kind of feels like that now though. Because he also has an apartment Freddie won’t let him stop paying the rent for, but he never uses that either. Freddie says it’s important Connor has independence, but that’s not really what Connor wants. He likes that Freddie wants to make sure he has a means to take care of himself if -- god forbid -- he didn’t always have Freddie, but he also doesn’t like thinking that some day he might have to live without Freddie.

But that’s just his boyfriend, overly thoughtful and too giving, thinking about Connor’s wellbeing more than his own parents do.

So he gets into Freddie’s car and heads home. It’s not too far from the arena, especially this late at night when no one else is out on the roads. Toronto is a big city but it shuts down at night, almost feels pensive and peaceful. Connor can feel his heartbeat in his hand where they’re pressed into the tearing wheel, and doesn’t hear anything over the low crooning from the radio. He didn’t grow up in downtown, but he feels like he has all these streets memorized. And he does, in a literal sense, but there’s a feeling to these streets that he doesn’t get in any other city, a feeling that settles into his bones and leaves him feeling weighted to Toronto. He’s so happy he plays here, he doesn’t think he could leave.

Their apartment is a few blocks down from the lakefront -- or, well it’s Freddie’s apartment, Connor’s is closer to downtown -- and the air feels slower down here. He doesn’t know if that’s why Freddie wanted to live here, or if the lakefront property is just more coveted, but it makes Connor feel better. Warmer days at the beginning of the season, when this thing was just new, Freddie would keep the window in his room open as they slept. Connor misses that, the way Freddie was wrapped around his back and the breeze wrapped around his front. It’s cold now though, too cold to open a window but it’s okay because he still has freddie at his back.

 

********

 

It took Connor a bit to realize that Freddie was flirting with him, way back in the beginning. Freddie paid him no mind to start, being pulled in by some of the louder guys on the team. Brownie wasn’t offended by it, there were other guys on the team he had to get to know too. But it wasn’t long until they found each other, something quiet and unassuming pulling them towards each other so gradually Connor didn’t realize he was attached until it was so strong he felt he would explode if he didn’t tell Freddie he loved him.

But even before that, Connor fell in with Freddie. For some reason Freddie felt the need to entertain him and Mo and Willy and Hyman, inviting them to his apartment where they’d drink between the five of them and giggle at everything. Connor remembers being tipsy the first time he saw Freddie smile and the feeling of being blessed radiating through him. He’s always been so gone for Freddie, it’s so clear now.

It was one of those nights though that Connor drank too much, getting too giggly and his memory a little too foggy. He doesn’t remember exactly how it happened but he woke up on the couch, a blanket tossed over him, his phone on the coffee table plugged in and charging, and a bottle of water next to it. It took him a bit to remember exactly where he was, but the living room was lit warmly and he felt so cozy it never even occurred to him that he should be worried.

The knowledge he was at Freddie’s slowly came to him as he sat up on the couch, putting his hand on his forehead. Everything was slow and ached a little. He wanted to go back to sleep when he suddenly sensed he wasn’t alone anymore.

Brownie blinked his eyes open and saw Freddie down the hallway -- must have just left his bedroom -- looking down at something on his phone as he walked towards the living room. He looked freshly rumpled, a little warm maybe.

“Oh,” Freddie paused when he saw that Brownie was awake, “you’re up.”

“Yeah” Brownie said, his own voice husky and unused.

Freddie blinked at him

Brownie blinked back.

“Sorry you had to sleep on the couch, I would have moved you to the guest room but there’s still a bunch of stuff on the bed. The couch is probably more comfortable anyway,” Freddie explains.

“No this is great this is,” Brownie looked back over at the coffee table, “it’s a lot.”

“Yeah well,” Freddie shrugged, looking down at his own phone in his hand, “I’m making breakfast though” he said, “You want some?”

Brownie hummed, “Yeah, please,”

“Okay” and with that Freddie turns around and enters the kitchen. It’s through an open door way, almost part of the living room.

Brownie takes his time getting up after that, he drinks the water and goes to the bathroom. He decides not to shower because he doesn’t have a change of clothes but he does splash water on his face and run a hand through his hair to make himself feel at least a little bit alive.

Back in the kitchen Freddie is standing at the stove, it smells like eggs and toast and tomatoes and chives and so many good things. Connor pads quietly to stand next to Freddie in the kitchen, resting his hands on the cool marble top.

“Smells good,” Connor tells him, “I didn’t know you were a masterchef.”

Freddie’s lips twitch up a little at the side but he keeps his head down, looking at the pan, “it’s just eggs, Connor.”

“Yeah well, that’s impressive, I can’t make eggs smell that good.”

“Does that make me a masterchef? Or you a mess?”

Connor laughs happily, “Probably both!”

Freddie turns to him then and gives him a real smile, the kind Connor rarely ever sees. It makes him happy, makes him smile back. It’s not like the headache disappears or his limbs feel less sluggish, but it’s like a cool current runs down his back making him feel more present. He lifts his left foot and balances it on his toes.

They talk easily like that, just trading comments and chirps as Freddie finishes up. After he divvies up the eggs between two plates and gets two pieces of toast to go with each, they sit at the small table tucked in the corner, big enough for four people but more comfortably sized for two.

“I think I need to go home soon” Connor says when he’s done, “I need a shower.”

“Oh,” Freddie furrows his brow as he keeps his eyes on his food, pushing around the last few scraps, “You can shower here, i mean.”

“I don’t have clothes here,” Connor says, “and putting on dirty clothes after a shower kind of defeats the purpose doesn’t it?”

Freddie shrugs, “I have extra clothes.”

Connor blinks at him

Freddie looks up when Connor doesn’t respond right away and makes a confused face right back at him.

“What?” Connor asks.

“You have mean eyes,” He says.

Connor feels himself jerk back a little, “Excuse me?” He asks.

Freddie goes right back to staring at his food, “Nothing I...I’ll go get you a change of clothes,” and then he gets up from the table and leaves the room. Just like that.

 

********

 

It wasn’t the only time Freddie’s flirting had missed the mark -- there was also the time he told Connor that his smile made Freddie feel like he was dying -- but at the end of it all Connor found it pretty charming. He had seen Freddie be smooth before, in bars and at functions with the leafs. Connor had studied him from across the room, the way he focused all of his attention on anyone who wanted it, making them feel like they’re the centre of the universe. He could see why Freddie got so much attention even when he was so quiet and mellow. He made people feel like they were the only thing that mattered.

With Connor though, Freddie got flustered and stammered and seemed to lose the almost perfect grasp he had over the english language. It came across a little aggressive, but Connor knows now what Freddie meant. And he likes that Freddie thinks his eyes are mean or that his smile could kill, because Freddie doesn’t think that about everyone else, that’s a piece saved only for Connor.

When he walks into the apartment he’s surprised to find that he can hear the TV in the living room from just down the hall. He drops his keys in the ashtray, and hangs his coat in the nearby closet. He follows the noise though, stepping around the corner to see Freddie reclining on the couch, his eyes locked on the screen as he chewed at the cuticles of his thumb.

“Hey” Connor says as he walks further into the room, “Why are you still up?”

“You weren’t home yet” Freddie says, easy as anything.

“You should be resting,” Connor says.

Freddie shifts and moves so his feet are back on the floor and there’s room on the couch for Connor to sit next to him, their shoulders pressed together and warm.

“I am,” Freddie tells him, his arm tucking itself behind Connor and squeezing at his hip, “You should get changed.”

“How are you feeling?’ Connor ignores Freddie, it’s not about him right now.

“I’m fine,” Freddie says, “They just wanted to make sure I didn’t have a concussion it’s no big deal.”

“Concussions are a big deal,”

“But I don’t have one,” Freddie’s hand comes back up and brushes along Connor’s hair line. Connor closes his eyes and breathes in time with Freddie’s fingers -- in as it strokes along the soft skin and out when Freddie finally pulls his hand away, just to put it on Connor’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Connor says opening his eyes back up again, “I believe you” He mutters.

Freddie nodded, “We can go to bed now.”

“Okay, please.”

Freddie follows him as they make their way back to their bedroom. The couch Connor first slept on being left in the living room, now that Freddie’s bedroom is their bedroom. There are traces of both of them everywhere: Connor’s clothes flung around the room haphazardly, a lone sneaker of his without it’s pair is near the entrance to the bathroom, and his side of the bed void of all pillows. Freddie’s pieces are a little less noticeable: his side of the bed is neatly made, there are photographs of him with his ducks teammates (and one of the two of them), and all of his pillows stacked in a strategic nest so he can just slip into it.

It’s home and Connor feels so good to be here.

Freddie slowly helps him get undressed, pulling his suit coat off as Connor unbuttoned his shirt. It’s a little bit of a slow process because Freddie pauses to press kisses along the back of his shoulders and neck, slow and comforting. It makes Connor shiver even if he’s not really feeling it tonight. But it’s okay because Freddie’s hands on his sides just feel good, comforting, warm, big.

Connor turns in Freddie’s hands when he’s down to his boxers though and leans up to kiss Freddie’s chin, where it’s starting to bruise. Freddie’s fingers dig a little into Connor’s side, probably still a little sore. But Connor doesn’t waste time feeling bad about it, just goes to kiss Freddie softly in his apology.

“Do you need to shower?” Freddie asks.

Connor shakes his head no, “I showered at the rink,” They both know that the showers at the rink don’t always leave you feeling the cleanest but, “I’ll shower tomorrow we have the day off.”

“Yeah” Freddie sighed, “you seem tired.”

“I am,”

“Yeah” Freddie doesn’t say anything else just looks down at Connor, searching for something. “Are you sore?” He asks, his voice just a little deeper, barely noticeable.

Connor stretches out his shoulders and rolls his neck to take inventory of his body. He is sore, is the thing, can tell right off the bat. Everything in his body is already tightening up, there’s a bruise along his lower back from some asshole cross checking him to the ice, and his eyes are pounding a little.

“Yeah,” he answers, small.

Freddie keeps searching his face before pulling Connor to him and kissing him again, deeper. Connor sighs into Freddie’s mouth, grabbing at his arms and kissing him back. He still isn’t feeling it, but he knows Freddie is angling towards it. He doesn’t want to say no, is the thing, wants Freddie’s body above him and in him, even if he doesn’t know if he could get off tonight.

He lets Freddie get him in bed, running his hands along Connor’s chest, fingers curling in his boxers. He keeps kissing Connor, because everytime he pulls away Connor makes a hurt sound and Freddie can’t deny him anything when he makes that sound.

Freddie feels him out well, doesn’t go to press into Connor’s bruises or scratch along the top of his thighs, but doesn’t stop touching him either. The closeness is what Connor needs, not the sex, not the pain, not their usual fare. The closeness of sharing a space with another human being -- with Freddie -- that feels somehow more than space in the physical sense of the word, the kind of space you share with someone when they make your chest ache and your words get caught in your throat, the kind of spaces that makes everything else feel slow and warm and languid. He doesn’t want to share that with anyone but Freddie, this vulnerable, small space that no one else should even get to look at. It’s Freddie’s, that part of Connor, that little space, belongs to Freddie, he’s the one who built it there.

Just thinking about makes Connor let out a small sob when Freddie finally pushes into him. Even with the few fingers he gave Connor it’s a stretch, it’s a lot, but Connor’s always liked that. He feels the stretch in his toes and spreads his thighs around Freddie’s hips to let him press all the way in.

He tugs Freddie down so that he can wrap his arms around Freddie’s shoulders and bury his face in his neck. He trembles as Freddie moves, his body lighting up with each push Freddie makes into him, of each brush of Freddie’s stomach along his cock. He doesn't think that’s why he’s trembling so much though. Freddie’s body is warm and his hair is clean and his shoulders so big. Connor doesn’t want to leave, he never wants to leave ever again.

The tears don’t surprise him -- or Freddie when he finally pulls back to look down at Connor -- He’s a crier in bed, getting so easily overwhelmed because Freddie just drags it all out of him. Sometimes it’s in pain, sometimes it’s in pleasure, but right now it’s for something else entirely. It’s not bad, but it hurts. And Connor reaches up with shaky hands to cup Freddie’s face and pull him down, kissing him gently.

They both can last a while but Connor is tired. He still wants to push it, loves the feeling of Freddie inside him _so much_ , but Freddie wraps his hand around Connor’s cock sooner than he’d like. He doesn’t tell Freddie to stop, he doesn’t want to, there’s just the echo of wanting it to last a little longer ringing in his head.

Freddie bites at the corner of his jaw as he cums in Connor, his fist tightening along the head of Connor’s dick making him gasp out and spear his nails into Freddie’s back. Cumming still isn’t the goal but he’s so relieved when he finally does.

It makes him feel weightless afterwards when Freddie pulls out, leaning down to kiss Connor on the forehead as gentle as possible.

“Stay in bed” Freddie says, “I’ll clean you up.”

Connor hums and lets his eyes flutter closed, whatever energy he had left is not gone. He lets Freddie move his body around gently, cleaning him up with a warm washcloth. It’s not enough, he’ll need to shower tomorrow morning right when he gets up just to feel human again, but this is nice too.

The ache doesn’t subside when Freddie climbs into bed with him but it settles and warms. Freddies bullies Connor around, smirking when Connor whines, trying to get Connor onto his side so Freddie can spoon up behind him.

When he kisses Connor behind the ear, Connor shudders, but reaches back, running his hand along the short hair at the back of Freddie’s neck. It feels nice under his fingers, knowing Freddie is right there and real and still put together in one piece.

It takes Freddie saying, “I love you,” Into his ear for the ache in Connor to shift into something more like fullness. Connor moves his hand back down to grab the one Freddie has flung over his hips and squeezes it.

“I love you too,” he says.

“I know” Freddie tells him.

There’s a long pause and Connor almost falls asleep before he tugs on Freddie’s hand to tuck it under his chin along with his own, “Hey,” he says, finally.

“Hmm?” Freddie sounds half asleep.

“I don’t want to keep my apartment,” He says quietly, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

Freddie doesn't respond right away but he doesn’t tense up either. After a few beats he tugs Connor in closer and leans over to kiss his cheekbone, “you can give it up,” he says, “this is your home now anyway,”

“Yeah, you don’t think it’s a terrible idea?”

“It is a terrible idea” Freddie says, at first Connor thinks he’s going to elaborate but he doesn’t. That’s it. Connor nods and kisses Freddie’s knuckles where they’re curled up near his mouth.

“I don’t want to leave here,” Connor says, “Ever.”

“I know,” Freddie says, “I won’t make you, ever.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”


End file.
